


Above

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: As Above So Below (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Morning Sex, Smut, Smutember 2017, prosey as fuck, these two deserve from fucking r and r
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: Scarlett knows that in the morning, after tonight, everything will be better in the Above.A/N: For the Smutember 2017 challenge (https://smutember.tumblr.com/post/164308887575/announcing-smutember-smutember-is-a-multifandom)See tags for warnings.





	Above

Despite the stalking nightmares, ignoring how the Below remained close and silent, lingering like a sickness, Scarlett refused to sleep on the fountain bench until morning. Zed may not have cared where he fell, but Scarlett did. 

When George tried to pull her down on the marble bench, she refused, tugging him back up by the blood-heavy remnants of his collar. She would die before collapsing so close to it - the manhole - the gateway - the crossover. Scarlett wanted to be as far away from it as possible, and as she walked, clutching George's hand in her own, she could feel her fingers between the crushing grip he gave back. 

For blocks, she walked, thinking to pause but feeling every time that she wasn't far enough away yet. 'Just another street,' she'd whispered, 'just one more.'

The small, water stained motel did not ask about the dried blood or the filth, or a deposit after hearing her British accent. George remained silent beside her, but his presence was thick and cumbersome, unequivocally American. They sold her a room for the night and did not ask for more than the promise of payment in the morning - morning... a concept that felt so, so far away.

Every second standing felt wrong, as though by the laws of physics, they shouldn't have been able to endure. The idea that an otherworldly essence was fueling their sinew gave Scarlett an acid-laced coating of dread. 

With a room key branding her palm, she opened them up to a cold dark unknown and prayed the walls would keep the demons away. In the morning, she could handle anything - in the morning the nightmare would be over, but right now, tonight, Scarlett dropped her satchel like a putrid mass of rotten flesh and let the tears finally fall. 

George lingered in a daze beside her, so far away until she heard her whispered name between sobs. He clawed at her heaving spine and yank her into an embrace. She didn't feel safe, but if she could, Scarlett decided it’d be in his arms - it usually was. 

Tomorrow, in the morning, things would be better. 

Scarlett disrobed, too numb to feel modest and left George standing in the locked room alone while she let her skin wrinkle under a hot shower, needing it to cleanse her like some hollow baptism but it didn't. She remained there until it ran cold and piercing and George pulled her out like a baby from a womb and into a threadbare towel. She hiccuped as his palm itched heat into her back, the friction from the cotton cloth making her skin prickle.

It wasn't just the skin and muscle that felt nothing...

As she had him in the street, George tugged her forward where she had wanted to collapse; give up. Once he laid her on the bed, there was no stopping the sleep that pulled her under. The Below dragged her into its arms the same as George had done, kissing her throat with hot rope as red-moist hands tore at her breasts and unprotected belly. Sea-stained brambles shredded her nail beds, and just as the red waters surfaced over her chin, she awoke - sudden and perspiring. 

“... shh-” George whispered against the wet curls tangled at the back of her head, sinking down in the cotton mattress, careful at first and then, with a groan, he collapsed. 

“It's just me," he breathed; still in shock, it sounded.

Around where her towel had come loose, leaving her side naked to the middle of her spine, she could feel his cold skin stutter against her own. He was still water-soft from the shower, but tacky in places. Scarlett felt her cheeks run hot, but she couldn't bother a care… it was not the first time they’d been in bed together, and she couldn't imagine having him any further away than right against her; pressed tight and unrelenting. 

Scarlett reached behind her, muscles weak, and pulled him around her, welcoming naked skin and moist breath and the comfort in knowing he wasn't dead. George, she thought, sleepy and afraid, he was alive, and he was warm behind the cold of the shower, and they were back where they needn't ever venture away from again. 

Yes, she found what she'd come for and lived… but Benji and-and-

“I'm so sorry, George,” she managed to say, letting one single tear slip down the side of her face into the pillowcase; soaked within the damp fibers from her wet hair. 

Scarlett did not linger to listen for his response - she couldn't - didn't. The demons were hungry, and as soon as her eyes fluttered, their claws extended, hooked inside and pulled her back down… below the surface. 

She awoke aching and hot; feverish with fear. Hands strangled her, wrapping around until their fingers were taut against the cords in her neck. A short nail scratched and lips parted, and Scarlett let out a terrified, haunting breath as her hips twisted and sank down. George groaned, thick with troubled sleep and squeezed her naked breast. She could feel his mouth open and close, gasping as though he too were being strangled by something unseen. Hot breath washed down her spine, and with a flutter of her eyes, Scarlett found a morning-lit room instead of the Below - instead of Hell and all its fanciful torments. 

“George…” she gasped, stretching her spine, shoving her backside into the cradle of his hips until his fingers were against her, within her, opening her up wide for the welcome distraction of masculine strength which she accepted with a staggered sound of pleasure. 

Along the damp threads of her hair - stuck to her neck - George hissed her names like a curse and a prayer all in one. Monster, she feared, taking the first hard thrust with surprising ease despite the nightmares still dancing in the shadows. 

On the floor, touched by cold sunlight, were their clothes. 

Blistered fingers ran down her stomach, catching sweat and the stains of shower-water as they hooked under her mons, teasing nerves that flooded through old fear. Scarlett shook and moaned, feeling stagnated blood begin to flow once again with every heave and shove of George's hips - of... of cock. It was with this life-giving pillar of flesh... that which penetrated her, brought her back up, that she felt cleansed of the night. The sun didn't take it away, nor did time going forward but George did his best. 

Behind her, George begged her to say something, anything as his body slipped and bucked against her back. Raw lips kissed along her neck and shoulder, pleading louder and less steady the more the friction-heat broiled between them. 

He had been a dead man… or still was, but dead men didn't fuck so sweetly - so passionately. 

Dead men pillaged the body and raped the soul and George did none of these things. She told him so, recanting some of the words in heavy-hearted French and some in gasping English but none of it was what he wanted even though he did not stop - not until Scarlett was melting. His fingers rubbed and pinched, painting works of art along her flesh… playing a hymn only she could reverberate. 

When she came, shivering and so very alive, George said the same words he had that night in Turkey except that this time Scarlett didn't leave afterward. They had been through too much, survived the unknown - the Below - and no one else would understand but him... not like him. Not like this. 

As his hips still, jutted, and his throat hitched with his own pleasure, she caught her breath. The morning light blinked in and out of existence with the flutter of her lashes. She willed away what the Below had promised and hugged George's arms around her until the sunrise grew bright and the sounds of reality filtered through the walls as sure as the sun did crawl past the window panes. 

Scarlett had escaped the Below - escaped with George alive, but at what cost? What price did she pay for all she'd found there? - where the world above was mirrored in the world below.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've wanted to write these two since I first saw the movie back in 2014. So here's my excuse. Please, if you have the time, let me know what you think. <3
> 
> [PILLOWFORT](https://www.pillowfort.io/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim)   
>  [INSTAGRAM](https://www.instagram.com/brim_brim_brim_brim/)


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